Ana Oliveira

**Six years ago...**


Time could indeed be a good remedy, because almost a month had passed since my aunt's departure, and slowly, I was beginning to feel better. There was still an emptiness in my chest—there always would be—the space left by my family’s absence. But the new people I gained were slowly filling that void, showing me I was loved.
Marta was growing closer to me each day. Ever since I had left the hospital, she made it her mission to cheer me up, making my favorite desserts, hugging me out of the blue, and even calling me affectionately "daughter-in-law." It was obvious how much she cared about me.
Some persistent shadows in my mind whispered that her affection was just pity, but my conscious mind was starting to believe I could indeed be loved, that moving forward was possible.
After I left the hospital, two days after my aunt passed, Marta took me, along with Josiah, to their house. For the first time, I felt out of place in that home. I felt like a burden, and I asked my boyfriend to take me to a furniture store, intending to move back into the house that was now fully mine and furnish it. I was furious when he told his mother about my request, as she then helped persuade me to stay with them until I turned eighteen. My mother-in-law gently held my face and reminded me of the promise I had made while I cried in Josiah’s bed, still struggling with my appetite. She assured me that she would never leave me alone, no matter the circumstances. And so, I decided to stay.
Isabela didn't visit me during my hospitalization, but she messaged me on WhatsApp, saying she’d come to see me once I was home. Bernardo did visit the hospital, showering me with kisses on my head and begging me never to do anything like that again. He also shared that our friend had been triggered by Christmas night, as she had done something similar when she was fifteen, after being accused of bullying at school and being physically abused at home—something only Ber and I knew about.
Even though my boyfriend constantly surprised me with flowers and endless romantic gestures, I still had this lingering sadness crawling under my skin, slowly creeping through my body. I started seeing a therapist regularly, a woman named Rita, recommended by my psychiatrist, who had diagnosed me with PTSD. Jow took me to my first session after Christmas, where the doctor prescribed a new daily antidepressant. Watching his eyes fill with tears during the session made me break down.
I wanted to get better. I wanted to be happier, to bring him joy. But after losing my aunt, everything felt grayer, heavier, like even holding a smile weighed a ton.
I was sitting at Josiah's desk, with a thick notebook filled with poems in front of me. I had written the entire thing over the past month, filling it with line after line of intense feelings, words full of meaning. **"Perfect Escapes from Pain"** was my favorite.

Pain is a complex feeling.
It can be physical or emotional.
Pain can be passionate.
It can be a reflection of evil.
Everything in my body aches.
My stomach, which I hurt myself.
My heart...
My wrists, which I didn’t even touch.
And sometimes, I stared into the dark.
I used to face the abyss,
Facing the perfect king of my underworld,
Asking if he could be the escape from my dark feelings.
Were they perfect ideas of fleeing the pain?
Strange thoughts from my insane mind?
Or could I truly escape if I had him in bed?
It was love... and it was the perfect escape from pain.

I stared at the poem, thinking how I woke up every day with Josiah excited, spooning me. I kept wondering if it was time to finally let myself go, to test the theory that real sex might actually take away all the emotional pain…
Having him in my mouth, as I had over the past month, used to make me stop thinking altogether. I only felt the taste of his liquid pouring down my throat, which at first I found strange, but eventually learned to enjoy. And when it was the other way around, with his lips teasing the lower parts of my body, devouring me, I’d go to a place filled with fire and relief, and my mind would become completely silent, no longer haunted by horrible thoughts. When he kissed my breasts, or bit, or slapped my face while I was on my knees before him, it was so, so good.
Marta was shocked the first time she saw me covered in hickeys on my neck and marks on my face, clearly from her son’s fingers. She didn’t like it, said it was unbecoming to be marked like that, but she wouldn’t stop us from doing what we wanted. I remember laughing when my boyfriend’s mother said her parents couldn’t stop her from losing her virginity, and that she wouldn’t stand in the way of me losing mine. She advised me about condoms and birth control. I felt embarrassed talking about it with her, but I told her I had already gone to the gynecologist with Luana and started taking the pill.
I had made up my mind: that night, we would finally take that step. And I would find out if I could spend even more time without giving in to the chaos of my depressive feelings.
Jow was so perfect and sensitive... He had a wild, animalistic side when it came to sex, but outside of that, Josiah was incredibly loving. My boyfriend became sad when he noticed I was lost in my thoughts, and it was unforgettable the day he helped me finally open the pages of the book Isabela had lent me at school, many months before, which I hadn’t even been able to touch.

Josiah found me staring at the object, my eyes filled with tears, lost in thoughts about my brother's death. I hadn't been able to read anything since. I developed an aversion to books, even though I could still write poems and sometimes romantic short stories.
I had a bookshelf full of books at my parents' house, but I asked Marina to donate them after the incident.
Josiah was so delicate in that painful moment. He slipped behind me, intertwining his fingers with mine around the book. When he saw that I couldn’t turn the pages, because I was trembling and sobbing, he pulled me to lie back on his chest and began reading aloud to me.
Every night, my boyfriend read a passage from *Throne of Glass*, and I was captivated by the story. Watching his red lips whisper the words under the soft light of his lamp, wrapped in his enormous arms, listening to his warm, comforting voice, I knew that right there was my safe place in the world.
What was God doing? He pierced me with pain and loss, only to give me a prince in a black castle who frightened and enchanted me at first sight. Was this my true soulmate? Or was He toying with me, allowing me to have something precious, just to take it away later?
I was terrified of losing Jow. The fear was overwhelming because deep down in my heart, I had a feeling something terrible would happen and rip the love of my life from my arms.
Because the one truth I held onto in life, the one certainty, was that nothing good came without a price. I could read the most beautiful love story, fall in love with a couple who loved and hated each other with the force of a hurricane, but the price was brown curls floating in a pool. I could have won an amazing, passionate boy, but I feared the price for that would be a broken heart in the end.
I often clung to him when I had those thoughts. Jow always knew when a storm was brewing inside me, and he would come close to comfort me... and give me other things.
"It's your shadows in your head, Ana," Rita would often say, reminding me that with all the losses I'd suffered, it was natural to be terrified of losing more people.
It was a Monday, and Jow had gone to Bernardo’s house. He said he had something to talk to him about, and I took advantage of the fact that it was almost time for him to return to get ready, fixating on what I planned to do.
I took a long shower, shaved, leaving only the light strip of hair he liked down there—the trail Josiah loved to nibble. I slipped into a dark nightgown, brushed my hair, used a curling iron to create waves that were more defined and sexy, applied makeup, and covered my body in floral-scented lotion, waiting for him to arrive.
When the love of my life entered the room, filling the air with his commanding presence, he was surprised to see me sitting cross-legged on his chair, my back to the desk. I noticed his expression was different—very serious, even... concerned. There was slight tension in his jaw, which was lightly bearded. Jow stood stiffly in the doorway, dressed in black as usual. He was the god of my underworld... And I would eat as many forbidden fruits as it took to be his.